


Worth the Wait

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, pre-season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory was fifteen minutes early to pick up Amy for their first date. She, on the other hand, was thirty minutes late. Post-Season Five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Doctor Who. 
> 
> This was written back before Season Six, so it ignores anything we've learned about Rory/Amy or River.

Rory was fifteen minutes early to pick up Amy for their first date. She, on the other hand, was thirty minutes late. Rory spent the entire forty-five minutes standing awkwardly in the front entryway, sweaty fingers clutching a rapidly drooping pink rose, trying to make small talk with her dad and trying not to pull at his neatly-knotted necktie. This was, of course, made even _more_ awkward by the fact that Rory was at least four inches taller than Mr Pond, and could see the thin spots on top of the man's head despite Mr Pond's desperate efforts to comb his hair over them. Soon, the conversation died (there's only so long you can talk about the weather and Mr Pond has no interest in football), and they just stood there, looking everywhere but at each other. Rory didn't know what to do. He couldn't manage a conversation with her dad, the entryway had nothing interesting in it to stare at, and his brain had gone numb, so thinking about anything was out. This was going to be a _disaster._

Every few minutes, Rory's eyes would flicker to the stairwell, hoping to see Amy striding down the stairs. After about the seventh time, Mr Pond noticed the direction of his glance and laughed.

“Ah, boy,” he said with a smirk. “You'd better get used to it; waiting for women.”

“It's been thirty-five minutes,” said Rory, glancing at his watch. “We'll miss our dinner reservation. Do you think she'll be much longer, sir?”

“Thirty-five minutes?” said Mr Pond, with another laugh. “Oh, lad, that's nothing. I've waited _much_ longer. Trust me,” he added with a secret smile, clapping Rory on the shoulder, “it'll be worth the wait, no matter how long it is. You'll see.”

Ten minutes later, when Amy came down in a green dress that made his palms even sweatier and his breath catch in his chest (like it always did when he saw her), Rory realized that Mr Pond was right.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

“I don't understand it,” said Rory petulantly, taking another drink of his beer. “We've been dating, sort of dating, whatever, for almost two years now, and that's not counting the four years I spent trying to convince her to go out with me in the first place, and the year I was already in love with her before _that_ , and I just don't get the feeling that _she_ loves _me_. I'm ready to marry her, I've got the ring and everything, I've told her I love her a thousand times, but she never says it back, just kisses me.”

He wasn't really talking to anyone in particular, but that's what you did at the pub, right? You told anyone within earshot what was wrong with your life, in an obnoxiously loud drunken slur, weeping optional (though Rory had decided to forgo these last bits; he didn't like crying and he had to work in the morning. Doctor Saunders got rather annoyed when the nurses showed up with hangovers). Rory didn't really have anyone other than Amy to talk to (well, except Jeff, but he was no help at _all_ ; Jeff didn't know _anything_ about girls, even though he _was_ good-looking), and he couldn't exactly talk to _Amy_ about this. So, the pub crowd it was.

“What's wrong with that?” asked the bartender (his name was Tom, if Rory remembered correctly), swiping a cloth along the top of the bar. “You like kissing her, don't you?”

“Of course!” Rory exclaimed, taking another sip of his beer. “She's a wonderful kisser. But it'd be nice if she said it, you know? I've been waiting two years to hear her say it.”

“Two years?” exclaimed an old man to Rory's left, guffawing. “Took me nearly ten years to get my wife to agree to marry me. Two years is _nothing_. I waited _much_ longer. It was worth it, though. You'll find out someday.”

Three weeks later, with his ring in her possession at last (it had cost him two months' salary, so he was a bit leery of her wearing it around all the time, but she _had_ it and that was the important part), Rory wished he could thank that old man. Because the moment when Amy said, “Yes,” _had_ been worth the wait.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Rory leaned back in the armchair and smiled to himself, looking around the room at the various articles of clothing laying all over the floor. Amy seemed bound and determined to try on every item of clothing in her size the TARDIS had seen fit to provide for her (and, it seemed, a few things that were a size too small), and about every five minutes or so, another article came flying over the changing screen in the corner to land with unerring accuracy in a small bare spot on the floor. Rory wasn't quite sure why Amy felt the need to try on fifteen different denim miniskirts, but over the years since they'd started dating, he'd learned that Amy wasn't the punctual sort, and he honestly didn't mind waiting. He'd gotten used to it (one thing that made him a good husband, he supposed). Plus, the oversized, squashy armchair the TARDIS had provided was rather comfy (did it know about the waiting? If it did, Rory was thankful the TARDIS was more thoughtful than the department stores), and Rory was about ready to curl up in it and take a nap.

“What is taking _so long_?” exclaimed the Doctor, bounding into the room. “Come _on_ , we're here! You've been in here for almost four hours! How long does it take to put on clothes, Pond?”

Another miniskirt (this one was pleated and had something glittery on the hem) came soaring over the screen and landed right on the Doctor's head. “Don't rush me!” Amy's voice declared imperiously. “Not everyone wears the same outfit every day, bow tie man! I'll come out when I'm good and ready, Doctor, so just park it. That planet's not going anywhere!”

The Doctor, muttering something about Scottish girls and supernovas, plopped down on the arm of Rory's chair, nearly sitting on top of Rory's hand. Rory hastily moved his arm out of the way and, smiling slightly, looked up at the Doctor.

“Thought you said you'd traveled with women before,” said Rory, lacing his fingers together beneath his chin.

“I have!” said the Doctor. “Lots of women.”

“Well, then,” said Rory. “You can't tell me none of them made you wait while she picked out an outfit.”

“Not for _four hours_ , they didn't,” replied the Doctor, a bit grumpily. “How do you do it? Aren't you bored?”

“Bored?” replied Rory, grinning. “Nah. Four hours is nothing. I've waited much longer than this for Amy.”

The Doctor, suddenly serious, gazed at Rory. “Yes,” he said. “Two thousand years, if I recall.”

Rory said nothing, just shrugged uncomfortably.

“I still don't understand why you waited,” said the Doctor. “The vortex manipulator would have been much quicker, and the Pandorica would most likely have been perfectly safe. It was an inescapable prison, after all. No doubt they made it everything-proof.”

Whatever Rory might have said was forgotten when Amy emerged, triumphant, from behind the screen, dressed in a pair of (very short) dark brown shorts, a purple long-sleeved shirt with a green sparkly scarf around her neck, and a pair of thigh-high leather boots that made Rory's eyes pop. As Rory shot to his feet and his breath caught in his chest (as it always did at the sight of her), he said the only thing he could think of to say.

“She's worth waiting for.” He looked at the Doctor again, and thought about what Amy had told him about that River Song lady. “One day, Doctor, you'll understand.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic was written two years ago, and it's just now that I'm noticing that Amy spent four hours trying on miniskirts only to emerge wearing shorts. Ha.


End file.
